October 2013

October 31, 2013

Noah and I have never been a big fan of Halloween. It's just not our thing. And now that I live in a condo where more people have babies/kids than front doormats, it's REALLY not my thing. But I'm struggling right now, with being the grump in the corner unit. Ugh.

Noah and I moved into this place almost four years ago. It was a new building and we were one of the first people in the place. When buying it, I remember the sales folks telling us most people in the building of just over 100 units were "just like us." Early thirties about to start a family. There was one kid, a four year old then, across the way, and our immediate neighbor was about 8 months pregnant. That was it. And then four years went by and the baby boom happened. In a MAJOR way. Literally everyone in every unit got pregnant and had a baby. Our immediate neighbors got pregnant, moved, and the people who moved in are now 7 months pregnant. People's dogs have had babies. The single woman three units down got divorced and then adopted a baby, which I think is on the way because she's been getting baby stuff delivered to her doorstep daily.

Every day around 5pm all the mommies and babies and mommies and babies to-be gather in the courtyard and the kids run and scream and the moms chat. I'm usually home around this time, or just getting home and have to pass by and wave and hide behind my front door. People used to ask me when we were going to have a baby (as if there is some choice in that), but no one asks any more. They just wave and I wave back and wish I could some how be a part of their little community. Sometimes. Sometimes I feel like screaming at their kids to shut up--I guess it all depends on my mood.

It's unfortunate that such intense feelings of resentment and sadness are the two items I've packed for my long-ass journey on IF Island. I love kids. I taught preschool and first grade. I did summer camps and have tutored. I work with kids every day. But when you can't make one it seems a little unbearable to engage in the fertile world.

I no longer feel as much anger and resentment. I've pretty much accepted our situation. But I still feel like I'd rather avoid the cute costume parade happening outside right now. Does that make me a terrible person? I bought candy and put it outside with a friendly sign. That's about as much as I can do. And I have to tell myself it's ok. I have to let myself be avoidant as I sit and wonder and hope and pray that The Lone Ranger is still somewhere inside of me, and that he/she will one day give me access to a whole other world of joy.

I felt guilty putting the bowl out front and started thinking about what that says about me and wondering if I'm just a nasty old wench. Well, I may be a nasty old wench but it's not because I put a bowl of candy outside my door. There are plenty of other well deserving reasons.

So that's it. I'm not going to over-think it. I'm too old to think Halloween is about dressing like a sexy vampire and too barren to enjoy the cuteness, so I'll wait for Noah to get home and then maybe we'll hole up and watch a movie and dream of a little boy or girl in a Lone Ranger costume riding a fake pony head on a stick.

October 29, 2013

Soooo...I've got nothing. Trying to edit video, maybe we'll get something done by the end of the week that we can post, but I did come across this video of the Cutest Baby ever. It's a good sign that I can watch video of a cute baby without crying myself. It's honestly taken some time to get here.

Noah and I have been watching some of our old video footage and it's crazy how much and how little has happened in the past two years. It's some how a total blur and yet I have so many specific intense memories as well. One day we'll be looking back at this time as the dark infertility years. Nothing stays the same forever. One day we'll be like, "Remember when we were holed up in the house with a bag of shots crying all the time? Hahahaha...what a distant memory!!!" We probably won't laugh. But it will be in the past. Sometimes when things feel so intense I have to remind myself of that. As much as it's important to be present, it's also important to remember if the present is really painful it may not be as bad tomorrow.

I'm going to keep scouring the internet for things that make me smile. I've survived bed rest like a pro--how can I seriously complain about that? Tomorrow I'm back to work and then will pretend that I'm not counting down the days until my Beta (10 days).

October 28, 2013

Oh the glorious 2WW. How quickly I forget to feel gratitude just to be here, on my couch, surrounded by pillows and my insane thoughts. I should use this time to practice mindful meditation and honing in on the skills required to quiet a monkey mind. But instead I obsess online about the conflicting theories on bed rest and convince myself that chewing is in fact a form of exercise. It's the most movement I'm getting these days---nomnomnom.

Today is day three and I realize why I'm so crazy:

This is what my weekly schedules have looked like for the past...year and a half? Medications and appointments and lining or follicle growth measures. How can a person NOT become obsessive. The schedule changes faster than my hormonal mood swings and the constant checking and double checking to see if I'm doing the right thing is absolute crazy making. Then when I get measurements of some sort I obviously have to double check the message boards and online forums to make sure my lining, or whatever, is where it should be, and then I have to check all the natural remedies to make my lining, or whatever, better. THIS IS THE MAIN INGREDIENT OF TAKING A SOMEWHAT NORMAL WOMAN AND MAKING THEM A CRAZY PERSON!

I have a new schedule now, which looks like this:

DO NOT. DO NOT. DO NOT! If I do ABSOLUTELY NOTHING but eat, then I'm safe. Anxiety much? And really, it's a lot of ridiculousness but hell if I'm going to mess with my directions. I've become a stellar student at following directions. I've also added my own list of don'ts that I've compiled off the internet and from other...sources. Don't drink cold beverages or eat cold foods. Don't walk faster than a three legged-turtle. Don't sit up to eat soup, just let it dribble all over your face as you try to spoon it into your mouth. Don't let your husband have a moments rest, make sure to call his name asking him to get you stuff the second he walks away and sits down to do something other than serve you.

But I suppose I should also create my DO list, and it will start with this picture:

This is the Lone Ranger before thaw on Day 6 (below) and after thaw about two months later (above). It's aged stunningly in my doctor's opinion.

DO be thankful that the embryo thawed successfully and maintained its form so well.

DO watch lots of shows and movies that distract you and make you laugh.

DO eat warm, comforting foods and be very grateful to have parents that live close by and a mother who is an amazing cook.

DO try and stop counting the days until the beta HCG blood test (my day to get tested is Nov 8th, why does that seem sooooo far away).

DO move slowly and practice mindful living.

DO nap, even if you're not a napper.

DO remember that whatever happens is just going to happen and that you'll deal with it with strength and courage.

Wish me luck on this last day of bed rest! Or better yet wish my couch luck, the poor thing is full of crumbs and starting to droop.

October 27, 2013

ME! How quickly I forget how desperately I wanted this day to come! I'm terrible at being flat on my back but really good at demanding things from my husband. I don't know who is more miserable right now. Actually I do. Poor guy. But we made it to this day! And for that I'm grateful.

We woke up yesterday at 6am, then 7am, then 8am, waiting for the call from the doc saying that the Lone Ranger had thawed fine and that we were still on for our 10:30am appointment. I was going nuts, making up all kinds of scenarios about why he wasn't calling, and finally at 9:30am I called the office and they were super nonchalant.

"Oh, yeah, you're still on, come on in at 10:30am" the front desk gal said.

Perhaps I misunderstood and they were only going to call if for some reason it didn't thaw properly. There is an 80% chance that frozen embryos survive the thaw so of course my optimistic brain only registered that there is a 20% chance it wouldn't. It was a waste of anxiety yesterday morning because the Long Ranger not only thawed but thawed beautifully. The doc said often thawed embryos get a little deformed looking and compress a bit and have to bounce back into shape, but our little one looked almost exactly the same as it did before it was frozen. The doc looked at me and said, "You don't seem excited?!" Yeah. I know better than to be excited, ever. But the fact that he was excited was a good sign I suppose. He did five ET's that day and I believe we were the 5th. I wanted to ask him what he thought our chances were but I refrained. None of that matters. It will be a baby, or it won't. Ugh but I sooooo hope it will.

So I guess i have to do my part now, which means lying on the couch and watching entire seasons of master chef until my eyeballs fall out. My parents came over yesterday to hang out and bring food and maybe they'll come back tomorrow. People say, "enjoy the rest time" but really it's hard to enjoy. I just have to remember that for so long all I wanted it for the Lone Ranger to be in, nuzzling into my lining. Hopefully that's exactly what's happening.

Thanks for all the love and support everyone! It really helps me. We will do our best to post some video tomorrow, maybe of me on valium singing before transfer...I have no idea how or why that happened but it did.

October 26, 2013

I'm a bit valiumed out but present enough to form semi coherent senteces. The only important one being the embryo thawed well and has successfully been shot into my lady parts. Thanks for all the well wishes and support. Will write more later when I can open my eyes all the way. One step closer.

October 25, 2013

I don't really have much to write today. I'm eager for it to be this time tomorrow so we can know we've gotten past the next hurdle. I just got back from Gilli's and had a good acupuncture session. Before I left she said, "This is it! Good luck!"

This is it. Good luck.

I think my dad is more anxious than I am. My mother-in-law too. TAKE A DEEP BREATH GUYS! It's going to be ok. I feel like we've dragged so many people into this saga with us, and everyone just wants us to be ok and to be happy. We appreciate that so much. And whatever happens we will be ok. What choice do we have?

Today is all about distraction and rest. Good warm food and laughing. We're going to see Bad Grandpa in hopes of buying ourselves two hours of mindless fun head space. I wish I could take my transfer valium today...

Happy Friday all! Send good thoughts to our Lone Ranger so he/she can bust out of that fridge and into my lady parts tomorrow!

October 24, 2013

Greetings from my office! It's a gloomy day in LA and I thought I'd take a quick moment to express all my anxieties now that we are two days away from HOPEFULLY our first and last and final FET. Why do I feel so nervous? Sometimes it just hits, and I worry about insane things. My dreams last night were all about being worried I didn't make enough food and worried that people were going to be mad about it. I've been trying to remind myself THERE IS NO POINT IN WORRYING about anything. Whatever happens will happen and the less anxious I can be the better. Fine. I know that. BUt what do you do when your body and heart and stomach simply beg to differ?

October 22, 2013

One of you lovely readers posted a comment that included this quote and I think it's worth sharing:

"Life is not about learning to weather the storm, but rather learning how to dance in the rain."

On days when I have nothing to report from FET headquarters (other than that I started vaginal progesterone, which is really one of the grossest things ever) I like to think about the life lessons I've gained or the positive ways in which the infertility experience has changed me. As crappy as it all has been, there have been some positives outcomes.

Like, I know now that I am one of the strongest gals I know. I've always been a tough cookie but finding the inner strength to pick myself up again after being knocked down so many times makes me realize it will really take a lot to break me. I think this is true for all of us "IF survivors." I say I can't deal or joke that I'm going to jump out a window or something, but I'm not and I don't. We just have to find ways to be resilient and get back up.

I have patience. I wasn't born with much patience. I'm finicky and like things my way and immediately. Well, isn't all that out the window? I have more patience with myself and with other people. I'm more patient when Noah leaves his shoes in the middle of the floor for days, because when such big things are going on in life sweating the small stuff seems ridiculous.

I can be present. My mother is Buddhist, I've studied Buddhist philosophy and actually met Noah in a Buddhism class in college well over a decade ago, so I know about non-attachment and being in the present moment, but I've always struggled to put it into practice. I'm a planner, an obsesser, a good analyst of what just happened and what should happen next. I'm not always terrific at just being with what is and focusing on the moment I'm in and accepting the feelings without trying to escape it in some way. Now all I have is the present. I think about my little Lone Ranger popsicle and wonder if he's going to thaw and if he's going to work, but then I remind myself that he's just chillin'. Literally. And so should I.

There are definitely more unintended positive outcomes but I'll stop there. I don't want to make anyone think I actually feel being sequestered to IF Island has been a good thing. It most definitely has NOT been! But with each crappy situation, with each crisis, comes an opportunity to learn and grow. Noah and I have learned to weather the storm--holding onto each other desperately just to not blow away sometimes. But we've also learned to dance in the rain, just a little. Sometimes we're completely drenched and hardly able to lift a limb, but we can dance, just a little, and that's good.

I know what I'm saying is very true for many others out there on IF Island, so I encourage you to think about your strength and your determination. Anyone who wants to share a lesson learned, please do. I think it helps remind ourselves that we are warriors, and some how, some way we will eventually win this battle.

October 21, 2013

On Saturday we interviewed an amazing couple who were flying out that same day to meet their birth mom. After years of TTC, almost double digit IVF attempts, getting donor eggs, and multiple miscarriages and surgeries they decided to adopt. They were on a wait list for 12 days--let me repeat that, 12 days, before they found their match. Their baby is due in February.

The couple had been through a LOT, but their bond was tight. You could see it. Living on IF Island with your significant other is an experience that often solidifies a relationship, because the two of you have been to battle, and survived. This couple has survived, and they were giddy with excitement and nerves about their next step, but they also reiterated that adoption is not a cure for infertility. Adoption will get you a baby, but it is not the cure.

I asked them both if they had any regrets. The dad-to-be said no. He talked about having to go through everything and try everything so you'd never wonder 'what-if,' so you'd always know you did everything you could. I think Noah would 100% agree with that. The mom-to-be said she did have regrets. She regretted one of the surgeries she had and she said she regretted the miscarriages, as if they were somehow her fault. They absolutely weren't, but I knew what she meant. Sometimes the pain of the experience changes you in a way that you regret, and so much of you wishes certain things never happened.

I listened and we talked about all they'd been through and part of me started to wish that I had a birth mom. If we started adopting when we started all this medical madness, I'd most likely have a kid by now. In my heart I know we had to go through what we've gone through, because we had to try. There was no way of knowing how things would have turned out and at any moment in our journey our luck could have been different.

So I can't regret. I can wonder. I can remind myself we did what we did because that was the best choice in the moment. I can kind of regret that laparoscopy, because it was stupid and pointless and painful, but what's the point. I did it, I survived it, I've moved on.

I think it's important that with all the fear and confusion and sadness and frustration and guilt we on IF Island feel we try not to add regret to the list. It's often hard not to but perhaps just looking forward at all times is what we need to remind ourselves to do. We can't over think, we can't take the blame--we can only do the best we can do.

Today we had an early morning appointment and everything looked good. So I'll shoot myself up with human growth hormone for a few days and we'll look ahead to Saturday.

October 18, 2013

Maya asked me to submit a guest blog for this week. I think she's convinced that many of you take an added interest in what I have to say for some insight into the male point-of-view regarding infertility and IVF and embryo transfers. Honestly, it does make me smile to think somebody may go back to their husband or partner and say, "this guy is so emotional and he and his wife communicate so well. we can do that, too!" Then I remember that my emotional output is somewhere between Dr. Spock and Patrick Bateman and I figure you're husbands are probably being more emotional than you're giving them credit for.

There is a lot of hyperbole that gets thrown around in our daily lives and rarely is it true. The federal government is the worst thing to happen to America since forever. Miley Cyrus is the sexiest being on the planet. Cronuts are the tastiest food in the world. When it comes to this life of trying to build a family, though, hyperbole goes out the window. Everything we do in this process is a really big deal. Every shot, every transfer, every failure has a chance to change our families - for the better - forever. And no matter how I appear on the outside, I'm thinking about this all the time on the inside.

This upcoming transfer of our "lone ranger" in many ways is our last chance at this. The expenses - financial, emotional, and to Maya's body - are piling up. A loss here and we are back at square one. And that, frankly, scares the hell out of me. I FEEL (point for me!) that going through this process for as long as we have - and I am in awe of those of you who have done it longer - tweaks how you view the next transfer or the next IUI. Time stretches and emotion goes in waves and you get to the point where you don't put the same pressure on yourself for the next event because you've failed so much in the past. In some ways that helps, you're managing your own expectations. You're also guarding your own emotions from the possibility of another loss. One thing I try to remind myself and my wife of, though, is to stay positive. This can be it. This can be our winner. This can be the one. This can be the next step in our lives and, hopefully, this can be the end of a painful odyssey and the beginning of a new and scary and spectacular one (yes, I view children as both scary and spectacular).

This is all a long-winded way of saying, I have feelings and I know what's on the line for us in our upcoming FET. Dear reader, even if your husband or wife or partner or Miley Cyrus poster aren't emoting the same as you or the way you'd like them to, please know that those quiet waters run deep. We're all invested in this in the same way, we just show in it our own ways. And sometimes it's tough for us to communicate it through the ol' mouth hole. My wife knows this. And if she doesn't, hopefully she will read this post and stop hassling me about my feelings.

October 16, 2013

We saw the Doc early this morning and he said that the Ganirelix worked to prevent ovulation and that I needed to be on it for another two days (I'm pretty sure it's a scheduling thing for the embryologist but whatever, going with the flow here, look at me Miss Flexibility). My lining looked good soo...that's it.

When we got back into the car I felt nervous. "Did he seem confident to you, Noah? He seemed kind of whatever to me..." I started in. Noah is so done with me, poor guy. We were supposed to go to a rock show tonight but I told him to go with one of his buddies instead, he needs a break.

"He seemed like a doctor who is implementing a protocol that is going according to his plan," Noah responded, all annoyed. I don't blame him. Though I'm sensitive and unsure and jacked up on estrogen, I'm also totally annoying.

"I wanted the doc to talk a little more about feelings! Like did he have a good feeling about this...does he think it's..."

"STOP!" Noah is SO done talking about feelings. And the doctor? Yeah, right. I've lost my mind.

I smiled. Laughed a little. "JK. JK. I just didn't like how he said it isn't usual to do an FET this way, with all the meds." The doctor said he usually does a more natural cycle, but since my body doesn't listen to anything he says and doesn't respond right to any medication, and we had to work around the embryologist's schedule, this is just what it is. It's totally manipulated. Does that give me less of a chance? It seemed like the answer is no. All of this is manipulated anyways, I just have to have more shots and more meds which doesn't feel good.

"He's had to do everything different with us," Noah said. And then we were quiet. He was focusing on the road and I was focusing on the worried thoughts running laps in my skull.

"Just let it go. We're in it. This is it. We do the shots. We see him next Monday. We put the Lone Ranger in when he says, and that's that," Noah said. Always my rock, my voice of reason.

October 15, 2013

One thing I've noticed is that I've become very obsessed with all the daily thoughts and decisions and worries that come up on IF Island. I'm always a little obsessive and type A about things, but when it comes to IVF and all things related I can really drive myself nuts.

I think back to all the other decisions and worries I had during the various cycles we've been through, and at the end of the day have come to the conclusion that a lot of the detail doesn't matter all that much. There is always a way to regret or to wonder if...if we waited, if we put in two instead of three, if we had a different doctor, a different nurse, a different embryologist, if we aspirated that one cyst instead of let it dissolve would the batch of eggs that months have been different...if if IF. It's too much. The reality is I'll never know. I don't know if trying to push forward with the FET is a good idea or if we should wait another month. At the end of the day it's either going to work, or it's not. I will set myself up as best I can, and that's it.

I think I'm getting a little freaked out because this is literally our last shot. Our last embryo. Our last hope for now. But not forever. We will find a way to have a family, and that's the bigger picture. When we are finally counting fingers and toes we won't remember how many IUI cycles we did or how much medicaiton I was on, or if we waited an extra week to start a cycle or not. What is seemingly life or death right now will be a distant memory. I can't friggin' wait until that day comes!

October 14, 2013

I don't usually write two posts in one day, but I'm writing an update and if anyone has any experience with FET's and the bizarre protocol your comments are very welcome. Though I didn't ovulate, it seems like I am about to today or tomorrow, so the doctor called and said I should start taking Ganirelix, the ovulation prevention shot. I will take that for three days and will see him Weds morning to discuss the next step.

I had a panic this morning when he called with the new instructions. I always feel like I don't have time to process the information or understand the protocol. And even when he explains it I still don't feel like I understand. Because this is our last chance I'm extra anxious perhaps. I keep reminding myself that the doc wants this to work too and that I should just stop thinking and do what he says, because that's what we are paying him for. To be in charge. But I don't have that kind of mentality. I ask questions and I want to make informed decisions. I want to have some control and say as to what is happening to my body. I think that's fair, but not really what's happening right now. The transfer train is moving faster than I can run.

I rushed to pick up the shots and get the meds in me asap. And I guess we will wait until Weds to see what to do next. It's such a helpless and confused feeling when I don't understand. Whatever. We are in so deep in so many ways I guess I will just jump all in with this last embryo.

I think it's kind of funny that I've lived on IF island for YEARS now and I still think I have some control over the situation, or that if the doctor makes a plan for me that that is what is going to happen. Haven't I learned yet that the #1 survival skill here is to be able to accept a change in the plan? What does a plan mean anyway? It's just a little list of things that have to be done that make me feel better. In the end there is no real plan. We've got to put this last embryo in at some point, and that point is when my body is ready and the embryologist is in town and the doctor says it looks like the best time for it. How can I gracefully accept that plan even if it doesn't correlate with my calendar? That's the key.

My plan for today wasn't to ovulate, but I think I'm about to. I have two faint lines on the predictor kit which means an LH surge is coming any minute. Then the plan is to call the doc and see what the new plan is. It's more like a scavenger hunt actually. One thing leads to the next and you never really know where you're going, you just know what you want the end result to be and in order to get there you have to go with the flow. You have to remind yourself that there will be boulders and stop signs and all kind of junk in the way, and that's part of the deal.

The other plan for today was to have my second to last sobada massage with Abuela, but she got sick and had to go back to Mexico. Soooo....that plan is out the window. Now my plan has to be to do something, anything productive that will get my mind off this madness. It's all a test of flexibility I suppose. We never know what life is going to throw us.

October 11, 2013

Thanks for all the comments about your experiences with the absolute exactness of all this madness. It's a friggin' miracle anyone is ever born! It's so hard when people not on Infertility Island have this delusional understanding of IVF and think that you just go to the doctor, pay some money and they put a baby in you. I remember when I first told people we were doing IVF and the overwhelming response was, "That's so exciting!" As if it was just going to work now. We are coming up on our year anniversary of our first unsuccessful cycle, and that time doesn't include all the months spent trying and trying to just start IVF.

One thing you aren't told when you first get your passport stamped at the dreary border of IF Island and My Old Life County is that so many things in your body have to align just right every step of the way. Cancelled IVF cycles are more common than successful ones, and things you never thought could go wrong often do. I've had cysts, runaway follicles, follicle counts that were too low, follicles that were too big, too small, too stubborn. When I would finally get a green light that my follicles seemed in order it felt like winning the lottery! And yet that was just step one. When the same thing happened to my sister when she donated I was absolutely stunned.

Reading all your stories makes me feel like we are all getting repeatedly crapped on. You think you'll be doing an IVF cycle in October so that by the Holidays you'll be able to finally smile again and start the new year with genuine excitement, but instead you'll be having some kind of surgery to remove something, or you'll be waiting to do a transfer because your doc is out of town, or you'll be back on meds. You may have to cancel travel plans...who knows. Everything is always up in the air. Perhaps we are all learning the true meaning of flexibility and patience. I'm over it.

Last year at this time we were gearing up to inject insane amounts of post menopausal nuns pee into my belly. We spent Thanksgiving in tears in a hotel room eating overpriced slabs of rubbery turkey, and the Holidays trying to recover from the experience. On New Years Eve we decided that 2013 was going to be a better year. THE year for us. Now we may be making that same pledge for 2014. Wow. I don't know whether to laugh or cry or bash my head through the wall.

But one thing I can say is that we have learned a lot, and that when our baby finally comes we will understand the amazing miracle it is to be alive. I will know that each cell in my body, in my sister's body, in my husband's body all had to be exactly in the right place at the right time. I will hopefully know that the embryologist had to thaw our Lone Ranger at the exact right temperature and speed, and that if she sneezed or blinked things may not have the same outcome. This is all with the assumption that the Lone Ranger is a go.

That's what I have to have right now I guess. Positive assumptions. A belief that one day, some way, the stars will align for us and a human being will come together and be just right. Not too big or too small, just right. And then I'll think this was all somehow worth it.

Until then I wait. I shrug at the disbelief that I'm still learning about things that can go wrong (how could the birth control just not work?) I wonder if I will ovulate early or if I will make it to the 18th and we will be a go. And I cultivate a patience and an appreciation that will one day help me when my kid has pooped all over the walls at 3am or has drawn on the couch in Sharpie.

October 10, 2013

I saw the RE yesterday for a baseline ultrasound and ovary check and he said my ovaries looked like I had taken clomid rather than the birth control pills I was on for ten days to suppress my ovaries. He asked me twice, as if clomid was my drug of choice these days. Yeah, I love the hormonal rage, broken out skin and bouts of hysterical crying that clomid causes! Ummmm....so what happened? It seems as though whatever medication I take, whether to stimulate or suppress, often gives me the opposite, no really no result. By body, which is insanely sensitive to everything from dairy products to the sound of snapping to the light of the iPad is completely un-phased by meds.

So I have three large follicles where very small ones are supposed to be, which means it is possible that I ovulate said follicles early, which means the FET will be cancelled and we will have to wait yet another month. I guess. I don't really understand this "natural cycle" FET and guess this wouldn't have been a problem if I didn't have to go on birth control to wait for the embryologist to get back in town, but I have no idea. Maybe it would have happened. I've read other people go on lupron to suppress during an FET but we didn't go that route. I don't get it and I don't get how every time I go into the RE things don't seem to be going right.

So I have another week of being patient and not knowing what comes next. I'm going to start testing ovulation and if I ovulate before the 18th we probably have to shut down shop. If I can make it until around then it sounds like he will move the schedule around a bit so that my lining can thicken and we will proceed. UGH. Double UGH!

Never a dull moment. If anyone has had an experience like this or a different protocol with an FET (or anyone who even understands the mechanics of an FET ) please let me know.

October 07, 2013

I don't really know how to start writing about my experience this weekend with another alternative healer, because it was kind of surreal. I have participated in
nearly every alternative healing practice I know about to try to get pregnant.
I did acupuncture and herbs, I saw the reiki lady and the energy guy and the
shaman. So when my friend Gladys recommended I meet her husband’s grandmother,
Abuela, a curandera/sobadora from Oaxaca, Mexico I thought, “why not.”

I googled both curandera and sobadora
and learned that a curandera is basically a healer, and a sobardora specializes
in massage, and often massages the tummy—from the outside and the inside—to get
all the lady parts in the right place for conception. It seemed kind of legit
and kind of scary. Healing methods in other countries have been a around a long time, and though they may seem crazy, they also have histories of working.

Abuela came up from Mexico this weekend, and healing me, getting my body prepared for the Lone Ranger, was actually one of the reasons. She embraced me the moment we met and said she was able to see or to sense that I had past trauma as a child from a fall, which left my body to develop out of alignment and my insides to be "spooked" for lack of a better translated word. There was something deeply intense about Abuela. She had an ancient face, skin the color of molasses, and the strongest hands I've ever seen or felt. At 80 years-old I would bet
Abuela could lift a car if she had to. Or even if she just wanted to.

I'm not going to get into too much detail because this blog would be twenty pages long and I wouldn't be able to do the experience justice. It would all sound completely insane. And it was, but it also wasn't. But just as a little snap shot: there was the most painful massage I've ever felt, there was being hung by my ankles from Gladys's staircase with the help of her family so Abuela could pound my heels with a rubber mallet to get my insides into the right place, there was soaking in a special herb bath, and having an egg wrapped in basil leaves rubbed over my body, there was being whacked with branches...hmmm...I actually had a pretty eventful weekend now that I think about it. It was extensive and strange, but more than anything I felt the love and determination of Abuela and Gladys and her family, which filled me with so much...I can't even find the right word.

Noah and I have somehow turned baby making into a team sport. While we often feel super alone and misunderstood and isolated, there are times we feel so much support and energy and love from others. Gladys's in laws don't know me, but after this weekend we are now definitely related. Even though Noah and I are having such a hard time making a family, we seem to be gaining an extended family that we appreciate so much. It's moments like these where I remind myself to shift focus from what I don't have to what and who I do have.

Hoping everyone out there can take a moment to do the same. To count blessings rather than tears.

October 03, 2013

It's obvious that this whole process is terrible. The shots are painful, the repeated hope-heartbreak cycle is abusive, the hormones are crazy making, but one thing that people don't always factor in is the awfulness that is the waiting between cycles or procedures. Sure, it's a time of healing. Of picking yourself up off the floor, again. Of finding an inner strength you never knew you had. But it sucks. Life is kind of back to normal only there is some carrot looming out in space that makes you hopeful and scared and angry.

Being in this for as long as I have and going through one IVF, two IUI's and another IVF with my sister's huevos, I know the waiting game well. Not to mention the months of waiting for my period/ovulation each month when we tried for over a year naturally, or the months when I was out of my mind on clomid...waiting to see if it worked. Or waiting to heal up after my laparoscopy, and of course waiting to actually start IVF since my follicle count was often too low or I had cysts. Honestly, I don't know how I'm still standing.

The wait--for whatever it is your waiting for--can be absolute torture. A time to obsess and recount all that hasn't gone well. It can be a really lonely time, as people are often super supportive when you're in a process, or when something hasn't worked out, but the wait after is boring. Feelings are perhaps less intense and there's nothing really to say so everyone moves on. But there you are. Waiting. Wishing there was some way to be proactive...waiting.

I'm trying to turn this waiting period into something else, but I'm not totally sure what. I've been trying to get my body back to being healthy, since the waiting time usually involves me gorging on whatever I want because I'm pissed off and feel like I deserve it. I do, but I feel like crap. I'm trying to reframe the concept of waiting for the next procedure as just living my life. I try to remind myself that I can't live in a past world of regret or disappointment, or in a future world of anticipation. I just have today. How can I make it the best possible? How can I breath into the subtle gray cloud that sits low and heavy over my head at all times, and just accept that it's there and make the best out of what I can? Being in any part of the infertility world usually means there is a little gray cloud lurking somewhere. Rather than fight it or deny it or totally embrace it so that it grows into a a dense rain cloud, I just notice its existence and find gaps in it where the sun shines through. It feels better to focus on the space between. That's what waiting can be. A little space between.

I can't believe the week is almost over. Tonight I take the last of my 10 days of birth control. That felt like it went really fast. Time does go fast. It doesn't always feel that way but it does. So I remind myself to enjoy the time I do have and the quiet in my house and the uninterrupted sleep I have now, because it won't be like this forever. The wait will someday, hopefully soon, be over.

October 01, 2013

The weekend away was fun, and oddly everything back home is exactly the way we left it. Sometimes that's okay. I'm never delusional and think that going out of town for a few days will resolve our fertility issues, but it always feels like we were able to get a little space from it all. But wait, how amazing would that be? We go on a road trip and come back to find a baby on our doorstep!

Hmmmm.

I've been reading the comments posted and thank people so much for sharing and connecting on this blog. My heart breaks for everyone going through this, but what I find the most interesting or...note worthy right now, is how we are all in so many different places. Different stages of the IVF cycle, different emotional places, different places in our ultimate quest. What's beautiful about that is the constant reminder that things are constantly changing. It's about learning to sit in something terrible and uncomfortable knowing that it's not going to be this way forever. My yoga teacher often says things like that when she is holding us in an excruciating pose for a long time. But she's right. We can lean into the pain and sad and angry when we need to, because it's there, and then we can slowly move towards something else. We know we won't die, it's all just going to sting pretty bad for a while. And then there will be lighter moments, or moments of relief.

As baffled as I am that after years of treatment and misdiagnoses and procedures and money loss and an egg donor and again disappointment...that I'm still in the same friggin' place, I know I'm not the same person. I'm a better person. A more patient person. A person who knows how to fight for what she wants. A person who will not take no for an answer. A person who believes that however dark a situation feels, there is some tiny speck of light. If not for ourselves, then for our babies who will find us some how, some way.